Carlisle's Revenge
by The Vampire Rosabella
Summary: Sick of being stalked and obsessed over, Carlisle Cullen decides to exact his revenge on the crazy Twilight fans... Written purely for the lulz; enjoy!
1. The Price of Fame

"…and that should heal nicely, provided that…" I paused mid-sentence, the bandage wrapped only halfway around my patient's stick-thin arm. "I'm sorry – er – Miss Bloom, are you listening to me?"

"Whuh?"

"You look…" _Concussed_ was the word that sprung most readily to mind, medically speaking, when I surveyed the girl before me. She was in her late teens, a quintessential preppy high school student: long blonde hair, ironed straight; designer jeans and a sweater from Hot Topic (labelled with the logo of a fashionable classic rock band she'd no doubt never listened to more than once); creamy skin, now heavily blushed in the cheeks. Her deep blue eyes, I decided, were her crowning features – or, at least, might have been at any other moment than this one: they were unsteady, unfocused, and decidedly glazed. It was a stare that was strangely familiar to me: I had seen the similar sort in my own children's eyes, particularly Jasper's, and in my own eyes, in times of weakness. Longing, lusting, aching, _desire_…

This girl, however, was no vampire. And she seemed, when one looked past the glaze, to be staring directly at me.

_Oh, dear God._

"…unsettled," I concluded tentatively.

"I'm – fine. Really."

I feigned a smile. "Good. Now, Lucy…" I finished the bandage and turned away, avoiding Lucy Bloom's lovestruck stare. "…I'll give your mother some painkillers; she can administer them to you as she seems necessary. You'll have to keep the bandage on, but thankfully it's not a break."

"Then why does it hurt?"

Facing the sink, I grimaced: Lucy was obviously far from the brightest bimbo in the glee club. "Because you sprained your wrist. I'm afraid you'll have to rest it for a while."

"So, I can't, like, do sports?"

"Not until it's had time to heal, no."

"What about cheering?"

"Well, does cheering count as a sport?"

A dull silence fell between us. Eventually, I sighed inaudibly, knowing when I was beaten.

"No, Lucy, you can't cheer. You can't do anything for a few weeks until your wrist heals."

"Oh…right."

"Yes, well…" I turned back to face her, holding a box of standard-issue painkillers for Lucy's sort of injury, and forcing a peppy smile into place.

_Dear God_.

She was still staring. Doe-eyed; smiling lopsidedly; sweating unattractively.

_To Hell with all of these fangirls._

"Is something wrong, Lucy?"

"No…it's – it's just – "

"Let me guess." I have lived for centuries; I have fought off dangerous cravings for human blood in intense situations, facing even heart surgery with little more than a slight pained touch to my smile, but the one task that I still find near impossible to complete is to deal with these teenaged idiots. "You've been reading those – _books_?"

"Mmm?"

"_Twilight_, Lucy. You've been reading _Twilight_." _Or, at least, you've seen the movie, like all the other "diehard fans" too lazy to actual open a novel._

"Oh." Lucy giggled nervously, her grin becoming increasingly more strained with every heartbeat. "Um – well – I mean – yeah."

_I knew it. I goddamn knew it._ "I see." _And now you're psyching yourself up to ask me for an autograph, or a photo, or Edward's number._

"Um – see – the thing is – "

I laughed softly. "I'm sorry, Lucy. I can't give you any of Edward's details. It's part of my contract."

"Oh – no – "

"I can't give you Emmett's, either. Or Jasper's. Or…" I smirked thinly at the prospect: this girl seemed far too bland to deviate so greatly from her stereotype, but one could never be sure with the fangirls. "…Rosalie's."

"Oh. Well…can I – I mean, would you – just – "

I smiled through gritted teeth. "I could give you an autograph, if you'd like."

"Oh, great!" Her face lit up into a blossoming grin in an instant; but for the sling across her shoulder she could have been in a Hollister catalogue. "And – one for my friend?"

Already I had reached for my notebook and a permanent pen. "Is your friend called eBay?"

"No – er – she's called Rachel."

"Then yes, of course. I'd been only too happy to oblige." _I'm always only too happy to oblige. Hell!_

I looped my signature twice over two consecutive pages – _Love from Carlisle Cullen_ – and tore them from the book with a flourish, before setting them into Lucy's remaining good hand. "There you are. Enjoy."

"Thanks." She giggled, and wriggled her sprightly form down from the bed on which I had seated her. "All my friends are just going to die when I tell them how _Carlisle Cullen_ fixed my broken arm!"

"Carlisle Cullen bandaged your sprained wrist," I corrected quietly.

"I mean, when I fell – that's how I did it, like, I mean; I fell in cheerleading practice – I thought this was going to be, like, _such_ a bad day – and then – I mean, like, _wow_!"

"Yes, Lucy. Now, is your mother waiting outside?"

"And my friend Taylor – she's, like, a girl Taylor, not a boy Taylor – she's got, like, the biggest crush _ever_ on you – "

How long, precisely, had Miss Bloom been holding in this veritable verbal diarrhoea of fangirlishness? "Yes, Lucy. Now, let's step outside – "

"And – like – _oh_, could you write one for Taylor? I mean, she's a girl Taylor, like I said; she's not, like, a _gay guy_ or anything, so it's not creepy – "

"_Mrs. Bloom_ – " I swung open the door of the treatment room, addressing Lucy's rake-thin mother in a tone several times the volume I had intended. " – here are some painkillers; give these to Lucy when you get home; the instructions are in the box."

"O_hmygod_, Mom, look who it is!"

"Two when you get home; no more for four hours, unless the pain becomes extremely intense, at which point you should consult your usual physician."

"Mom, it's him, it's _him_, from the books – "

"Fortunately it's not broken; she's sprained her wrist, as I mentioned to you earlier. You were right to bring her along, Mrs. Bloom."

"Thank you, Dr. Cullen." Mrs. Bloom had risen to her feet (she was build petite, like her daughter, but in her monstrous stiletto heels she might have dwarfed even Emmett), and fighting back what appeared to be a dusky rose blush of her own at my presence. _Keep it together, Carlisle: you've seen women give birth while wearing shirts with your son's picture on them; this should be nothing by comparison._

"It's nothing, really. Lucy has been very brave."

Lucy giggled hysterically, and Mrs. Bloom's lips twitched upwards into a sickening smile. _Oh, God, why did you create TwiMoms?_

"Mom – _look_ – he signed a page for me, and – "

"It's been very nice meeting both of you," I continued, aiming for my best calm-but-firm tone. "Goodbye, Lucy. Goodbye, Mrs. Bloom."

"Goodbye, Dr. Cullen – "

"Bye, Carlisle, _bye_!"

"_Lucy_!"

"Dr. Cullen, goodbye, Dr. Cullen!"

I laughed half-heartedly, pretending to be charmed by her eagerness for the last few seconds as I watched the Bloom women disappear down the end of the hospital corridor. In truth, I _was_ charmed to begin with, when I met the first few fans – the quiet, polite, awestruck girls who'd been enchanted by the stories of my son. It was like any new experience – exciting, surprising, exhilarating – but, as with any new experience, the thrill began to wear off after a while. After the fourth or fifth time a desperate teenager has stuffed your mailbox with their unwashed underwear, addressed to your youngest child, I don't believe anyone has the right to blame you for becoming more than a little irritated with the entire prospect of fangirling (and fan_guy_ing, more disturbingly still). Perhaps if Lucy had come along in the first few weeks after the initial _Twilight_ instalment was published, I might have been more sympathetic: now, I saw only one more hormone-crazed bimbo who'd scale the walls of my house at two o'clock in the morning in the hope of catching a glimpse of me walking around naked; who'd dive at my wife and children on our way to work and school with ludicrous and downright inappropriate demands; who'd slash their jugulars and throw themselves at an unsuspecting Jasper in the hope that he'll cave and bite them.

_It's insane. Really and truly insane._

I sighed quietly, stepped back into the room and shut the door resolutely at my back. _When I get home_, I decided, _Edward and I are going to have a little talk_.


	2. Trouble at Home

"Edward, could I – "

"_Grandpa_!"

I fought back a grimace as Renesmee launched herself at me, flinging her arms around my waist with an unmistakably teenage joy. Soon she would stop growing altogether, or so we had been told; much time had passed since the incident through which we had almost lost her, and now she resembled less the adorable immortal child Irina Denali had seen and more one's average girl in her mid-teens…if a little more beautiful than most girls was likely to encounter at Forks High School. With her bronze ringlets and strong facial features she could have been a double of her father, while her deep brown eyes echoed almost eerily back to Bella's human life; in personality, however, she resembled more greatly her carefree aunt Alice than either of her gloomy parents, and for this I was somewhat glad. Halfway in, halfway out of the living room door, I allowed a smile to pass over my lips as my arms cradled the grandchild I had never imagined I would have.

"Weren't you going over to Jacob's house today, Nessie?"

"Not today – "

_Thank goodness_. It was not, of course, that I disliked Jacob – apart from the smell – and we were now all more than grateful to him and his pack, but there was still always a part of me that was less than thrilled with his relationship with Renesmee. He had been wonderful with her when she was an infant, treating her like a favourite little sibling, and was admirably liberal with her now that she was older, allowing her to date other people and treat him as a close friend until she felt comfortable enough to accept him as a lover – but, when all was said and done, it could not be denied that the whole situation was more than a little goddamn creepy.

" – but oh, Grandpa, guess what!"

I braced myself. "Is Grandpa Charlie coming to visit?"

"No – better!"

"Grandma Renee?" _We'd better lock Jasper in the basement again…_

"No, nobody's coming!"

I sighed through my gritted teeth, allowing my steady gaze to sweep over the room before me as I set my bag down on the floor. The television was blaring out some mundane sitcom, at which Emmett was chuckling dully; at the other side of the room Edward sat silently brooding, a faint frown already tracing his chiselled features: no doubt he could hear my thoughts perfectly clearly already.

_Hell_.

"What is it, then?"

Renesmee beamed and finally released me from her grasp, spinning happily around the room and crying out, "Someone's asked me to the school dance!"

"_Oh_." I bit my lip; perhaps that was a bit too abrupt. "Oh."

"My first, proper, _official_ date – not just like Jake or anything; an actual real, regular boy who likes me!"

"Oh – that's – "

"His name's _Adam_," she continued in sing-song, "and he's on the _football_ team, and he's liked me for _ages_, and here – let me show you him – he's – "

I shook away her hand as she reached for my arm, the transferred image of a brawny blonde surfacing in my mind. "_Renesmee_."

She halted suddenly, sensing my tone. "Grandpa?"

"I think you should…" _Well, this is awkward. _"…just be a little more cautious, okay?"

"I'm not going to _bite_ – "

"Nessie." I placed a hand on her shoulder. Across the room, Edward's head snapped up. "Just…remember who you are, okay? If this boy is like any other teenager in America, he already knows an awful lot about you, and about all of us. Taking you to prom probably seems like a glamorous opportunity for him."

Renesmee's blood-filled cheeks glowed a soft scarlet; her nose wrinkled in stark distaste. "What you're saying," she began in a tone of measured calm, "is that he doesn't like me for _me_? That he only asked me out because Mom and Dad and I are famous?"

"Now, Ness, I didn't say that – "

"Yes you did!"

"I did not!"

"Well, you meant it!"

"Renesmee, you know what these fans can be like – "

"It's _not fair_!" The dark eyes were suddenly swimming with bitter tears. Of course, the _waterworks_: the one weapon my own children had never been able to use on me. "Just because some stupid writer bought Mommy's story – before I was even _born_ – I have to – to – "

"_Renesmee_!"

"Emmett, will you please take my daughter outside? I think it's time she went hunting."

Renesmee's teenage tantrum broke off dead; Edward was now standing, and his expression was not the sort any of us were ever glad to see on his face. Anger management difficulties seemed second nature to my son, but I'd never been able to coax him into having any sort of treatment for it – though not, I hasten to add, through lack of trying.

"Thank you, Emmett," I muttered as my brawniest son left the room, my granddaughter squirming in tow.

"Daddy, _why_ – "

"_Go_, Renesmee." Edward's voice was as hard as his abs, his features arranged in a scowl darker than Aro Volturi's Victorian pornography habit. "I need to talk to Grandpa Carlisle for a moment. In _private_."

_Oh, God_.

As the door clicked shut behind Emmett and Nessie, I took a step back – and Edward took a step towards me.

"Edward – "

"Why do you have to ruin things for her, Carlisle?"

"I _didn't_ – "

"She just wants to be normal – or to fit in, at least. Why can't you let her have that?"

"She's just a child. I'm…I'm trying to _protect_ her."

Edward smirked. "Isn't that supposed to be my line?"

"I'm serious, Edward. These fans – some of them – the hardcore ones – they're…well, they're _crazy_. They have no concept of personal space, or anything like that at all. I was almost _assaulted_ by a pair of them at the hospital today – "

"I know," Edward said, breathing each word in a tone of infuriating calm. "And you came in here, guns blazing, ready to make me do something about it – but Renesmee stopped you, so you took it out on her instead."

Had I been human, my blood would have boiled. "Now, that's not fair, I'm only – "

"She's my daughter, and she wants to go to a dance with a nice, respectable, _human_ boy!"

"Just because he's human doesn't mean he's harmless! I'm – I'm _shocked_ by your behaviour, putting your family at risk like this – "

"At _risk_?"

"Yes, at risk! Just look at Jasper with that girl the other day – she practically had the tampons up his _nose_ before we could stop her!"

"What does _any_ of this have to do with my daughter going to a dance, having a good time with her – "

"_Listen to me_!" I so rarely raised my voice that this sudden outburst from my lips genuinely took me by surprised. I stopped, and turned away from Edward, turning my attention instead to the window – Emmett was leading a decidedly sulky Ness along our driveway and towards the forest. _It's for her own good, Carlisle, for the good of the family…_ "The Volturi allowed the publication of Bella's story on three conditions. _One_, that we use a writing style so hackneyed that no one could ever possibly want to read it – "

"Well, that didn't work," Edward cut in dryly.

"_Two_, that we change the location of their whereabouts in the published version, and _three_…" I shook my head. "Three, that we were able to keep the humans under control. If we can't do that, Aro isn't going to be pleased."

"Look, Carlisle." Edward seemed subdued now, seeing the sense in my statement. "I can't deal with this right now. Bella doesn't want me to…" He paused, then shook his head. "She'll be back from hunting soon – Bella. Can't we discuss it then?"

Along our driveway, I detected the sound of a distant clatter: those crazy bastards were obviously bringing in ladders again. _Freaking fangirls!_ "It's fine. If you don't think there's anything you can do…"

"Well, I've tried everything I can already; I don't know what you expect me to do!"

_Come out as gay? Diss the Jonas Brothers? Sleep with Kelly Osbourne?_

"I don't know, Edward, I just don't know – but we _can't_ go on like this."

A pause fell between us; Edward ran a hand through his hair, and I pressed my hands against the clear glass of the window. _She'll be back from hunting soon – Bella._ There would be no hope of talking to him then; he never had room to think of anything else when his wife was around.

"I'd…better go and see what Alice is doing. Upstairs."

I glanced around in time to see him slip out through the living room door, shutting it quietly behind him as he went to chase his excuse. Of course, he could just read her mind from down here if he was _that_ interested in what she was doing.

I sighed, and drew the curtains across the window with an agitated flourish. Down the driveway, the clattering ladders were getting louder – along with trailing, scraping, giggling and rapid use of the word _gorgeous_. I could smell them now, too: there were two or three at the most, designer-clad brats chewing minty gum and saturated in whorish perfume.

_Well, how brilliant._

If Edward wasn't going to help me, I was going to have to take care of these idiots myself.


	3. The Decision

I turned slowly out of the frozen goods aisle, taking in the brightly coloured packages with a frown that was half scorn, half intrigue. Purchasing food had for years been simply part of our charade –a family of our size with perpetually nothing in the cupboards was sure to arouse some sort of suspicion – but it was not until recently that it had become a necessity: Renesmee, much to the envy of many vampires, could eat food.

Now, what had she asked me for this time?

_Coke, Sprite, Fanta._

I sighed at her scrawled writing on the crumpled scrap of paper. What was wrong with water from the tap?

_Chips and/or candy bars (not the cheap kind, the ones that actually taste good)_

She liked, of course, to have the sort of things that the rest of her schoolmates had, even if she didn't enjoy them in quite the same way. Although all her teenage years had been greatly condensed, they seemed for the most part to be filled with the sort of activities and phases any other girl went through. She had been desperate, at one point, for a nose ring (Edward had, naturally, viciously refused); she had longed to dye her hair black for a month or so (Bella had wanted to give in, but this time Rosalie had stepped in to halt the proceedings); she painted her nails in rainbow colours, and purchased skimpy shirts and skirts which she painstakingly hid from her parents. In all ways, Renesmee Carlie Cullen was the burst of normality our family had been lusting after for so, so very –

_Giggle_.

I froze.

_Giggle. Giggle, giggle._

"Oh, dear God, _please_ no…" I found myself muttering the words pathetically, although there is no point to a vampire's prayer: it's like a dog baying at the midnight moon, hoping he can chase it away. "_Please_, no. Not here. Not _now_. Not – "

"Carlisle?"

Oh, _fabulous_. Gone were the days of courtesy, when the very worst insult was to be addressed as _Mister_ Cullen instead of _Doctor_. Now it seemed I was on first-name terms with these so very detestable beats. _So very, very detestable…_ Keeping my hands on the shopping cart in front of me, I inclined my head to the side, facing the monstrous addressers.

_Dear Lord_.

Both were strung with more silver jewellery than any reasonable accessory store stocks in a month and draped in near-matching pink attire; one was lanky, one was bulbous; neither, I noted with a sense of pure despair, was particularly shy of forty-five.

"Yes?"

"It _is _him!"

"_Ooh_!"

"Oh, this is just _so_ – "

"I'm sorry," I cut in curtly, "but is this going anywhere?"

"Whuh?"

"Um…"

Ah – I'd stumped them. I was beginning to really rather like this new attitude. "Are either of you – ladies – in need of direct medical assistance?"

"Well, _no_, but – "

"Then you'll have to excuse me." I swung the cart around, heading briskly down the aisle and towards the checkout counter. "I'm sorry, but I'm terribly busy – as I'm surer you can imagine. Perhaps some other time?"

And then – oh, joy of _joys_ – I was gone, hurtling towards the checkout, not even bothering to turn back to revel in the expressions of horror that no doubt pursued me; I grasped a lurid package of trendy candy from the stand next to the counter and tossed it on with the rest of Renesmee's orders, and had the exact cash for my purchases already worked out and waiting in my hand before the cashier (a sultry boy in his mid-twenties, thank heavens) had even had time to scan the last bottle of Coke. Empowerment rushed through my veins; I lashed the groceries into bags and snatched them into my grasp, nodded curtly to the cashier and began to stride out of the store, far ahead of any gawking figures.

"You see?" I muttered victoriously. "I – I can _stop_ this. I can be a normal person. I can be a face in the crowd. I can be _inconspicuous_ – "

"Carlisle Cullen! Oh my _God_!"

" – I can _ignore_ people," I continued viciously, still under my breath, as I slid past the teenage airhead and through the automatic supermarket doors. "I don't belong to _any_ of these people; I'm almost four hundred and fifty years old, and – _Renesmee Carlie Cullen, what the hell are you doing_?"

I had yelled so loudly that a car speeding across the parking lot ahead of me had ground to a halt in shock. I'd certainly shocked the open-topped car of teenagers in the centre of my field of vision: two girls, older and blonder than Nessie, had clutched each other in terror; a boy had almost fallen off the side of the door upon which he had been perched; one large, thuggish figure whose gender I could only speculate upon had been stunned into dropping their can of beer. But _none_ of these kids, I noted with a pang of sourness, looked quite as shocked as my own granddaughter – or, for that matter, the young man in whose arms she was locked.

_God, no_.

He'd been – wait, what had they been doing? I blinked, trying to replay what I had just witnessed.

They'd been kissing.

He'd been holding her.

And – and _Renesmee_ had –

– _no, surely not._

Renesmee, my supposedly grown-up and responsible granddaughter, had had her teeth locked around this moron's neck. Biting down on his thick, tanned skin. Sipping in the warm, scented potion that was this teenage idiot's blood.

So. This was Adam, the footballer, was it?

"G-Grandpa?"

Renesmee had been sucking his blood – for his pleasure as much as hers – _in the middle of a parking lot_.

"Grandpa – _Grandpa_ – "

_Human_ blood. The sweetest, most potent nectar of all for a vampire – but the substance I most expressly forbade. In _public_. For _fun_.

"Grandpa Carlisle – "

It was only as Nessie approached me that I realised I had been rooted to the spot, standing in awestruck disbelief in front of the car of teens. Her lipstick was smeared unattractively around her pouted lips, her hair was frizzing out of its usual precise style, and one didn't need a vampire's enhanced senses to detect the faint aroma of alcohol emitting from her breath.

_Alcohol and blood_.

God, how could she be so stupid?

"Grandpa – I – I can _explain_ – "

"Go home." The words barked from my lips with unfamiliar severity; she opened her own mouth to protest, but I spat out, "_Now_."

"But everyone – "

"_Walk_," I bit back, anticipating her excuse. "Now. Unless you want me to tell your father what I've just seen."

Renesmee blanched further – Edward, she knew as well as I, would erupt if he'd seen what I had – and turned away, beginning to mooch across the parking lot, stumbling slightly as she stepped onto the sidewalk. In any other situation, I might have followed her – to make sure she obeyed, or at the very least to make sure she didn't get herself into trouble – but for now, I had other things on my mind.

A short cough erupted suddenly from behind me. I turned.

"What are you all looking at? Get out of here!"

Had I been human, my cheeks would have scorched scarlet – but I was not, and they did not. Instead, I began to walk away from the parking lot in the opposite direction to that of my sole grandchild, seeking a place away from the endless stares of Forks's gossip-hungry fishwives.

Was Renesmee really that brainless? Had she really no concept of the danger her stupid little stunt presented – not only for those around her, but for herself?

_It's those kids_. Those moronic teenagers, obsessed with the idea of vampires – _and the idea of my family_.

I rounded a corner, set my shopping bags on the ground at my feet, and reached for my cell phone (how on earth had we vampires stayed in contact in days gone by? These times were dangerous – but so _convenient_). Quivering, my fingers traced the numbers; I hesitated, then hit the dial key, and pressed the phone to my ear.

"Aro? It's Carlisle. Yes. There's…there's something I would like to discuss with you."


	4. Volterra Visions

**Hey, guys! Thanks so much for reading the story so far - it means so much! :)  
Although all the chapters thus far have been from Carlisle's POV, this episode in particular is in the third person, for reasons that should shortly become apparent ;) After this, we should generally be back to plain old first person Dr. Cullen, although there may be some deviations from that norm wherever I see fit (although if you'd specifically like to hear more from these guys, do tell, and I'm sure it can be arranged ^_~).  
Let me also take this opportunity to say how much I love hearing reviews from you guys. Please, please do keep reviewing! I read and appreciate every one. Oh, and if there's anything you'd especially like to see, please do tell.  
So, yeah - there we go. And now, over to the Twilight Charries! :)  
- Rosabella, xxx**

* * *

"_To Forks? Again?"_

_As soon as Demetri had spoken, he realised his mistake; perched behind the desk before him, Aro Volturi arched a brow, his lips curving into a smirk of amusement at the younger vampire's scepticism._

"_You doubt my judgement, Demetri?"_

"_N-no – I – "_

_Aro laughed softly – a cold, mirthless sound. "And now you attempt to lie to me. Doubt thou the stars are fire?"_

"_I…" Demetri hesitated, then shook his head. "I'm sorry. I meant no disrespect."_

_Aro gave a thin smile. "Yes, yes. I assume that I can trust you to assemble the guard for me?"_

"_Of course."_

"_Excellent. Now, once we arrive in Forks, I will need you to locate several of our…_suspects_." The word brought another smile to his austerely beautiful features; had Demetri not been used to interfacing with the leader of the Volturi, he might have shuddered. "Of course, I don't suppose this will be any sort of problem for _you_, my dear one," Aro added; Demetri smiled slightly, softened by the praise._

"_I don't suppose so, no."_

"_Excellent," Aro repeated, inclining his head in a gentle nod. "We leave for Forks just after sunset – the entire guard. We have quite a situation on our hands over in the States…" He hesitated; Demetri bit his lip, then suppressed a gasp as the older man snatched for his hand._

"_I – "_

_Aro's eyes danced with malevolent glee, Demetri's mind streaming into his own at the touch. "You doubt me still, my darling."_

_Demetri's gaze shifted down. "I'm sorry."_

_Aro clucked his tongue. "I know, young one, I know. But, you see, I must have you on _my_ side tonight…we will take on not one exceptional child, but an entire town. In fact…an entire _population_."_

_A chance for violence, for glory, for bloodshed – but still Demetri stood uncertain. "It's – it's only because the last time we went there – to Forks – well, it turned out to be a misunderstanding, didn't it?"_

_Aro rose finally to his feet, approaching his doubting servant with an unnatural calm – the eye of a storm. "Yes, but the last time we were foolish and complacent; went on hearsay alone. This time…" Once more he smirked; once more he reached for and took Demetri's ice-cold hand in his own. "…this time, my dear one, I was given the summons by Carlisle Cullen himself."_

* * *

Alice Cullen snapped back to the present, grasping the corner of a nearby table to steady herself. What on earth had she just seen?


End file.
